


Holding On Too Tight

by Green, ohfeelya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Dark, Dark Stiles, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is Dead, Future Fic, I reject your reality and substitute my own, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Not Season/Series 04 Compliant, Older Stiles Stilinski, PTSD Stiles, Past Character Death, Protectiveness, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Young Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfeelya/pseuds/ohfeelya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU branching off from S2) A darker and desperately broken Stiles attempts to find a way to save them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The majority of this story was written before the Paige reveal (it's been sitting in docs for a looong time), and therefore does not take that piece of canon into account. In this AU, Kate snared Derek when he was 16, but all had been well before that. It begins in a dark future (branching off from the end of S2) where the people Stiles cares for the most are dead. Stiles is older, harder, darker, and traumatized.
> 
> beta'd by majoline and lim a long while ago
> 
> EDIT Jan 2018: For some reason, I had this under another name: ohfeelya. This is 100% a Green production, I just was a little timid about it for awhile.

Despite everything Stiles has learned from science fiction novels, nerdy yet informative websites, and theoretical physics textbooks, time travel is not actually something that can be carried out by putting scientific principles into motion.

Time travel is possible, it's true, and the moment that knowledge comes to Stiles is like a religious epiphany. However, the road to time travel is paved with nothing but esoteric magic and the same _belief_ Deaton told him about all those years ago, not any sort of machine or naturally occurring temporal anomaly in the dark reaches of space.

It's not stable, either. It's erratic and based more on emotion and what the magic or the universe or _something_ thinks is best. Stiles isn't going to be able to control it. He can't turn a knob and say 'there, that moment in time is where I need to be' because it just doesn't work like that.

Honestly, though, it will be a relief of sorts. To finally be away from the nightmare his life has become.

It takes him weeks to prepare. He studies, and brainstorms, and at night when he should be sleeping he stares at the ceiling and goes over different scenarios. Even though he knows the magic will take him somewhere he, specifically, needs to be, he can't help but think of nightmare situations that he really isn't prepared for. Sometimes he falls into fitful slumber while trying to work out just how you run from a hungry pack of velociraptors.

He doesn't tell anyone what he's planning, but there's no pressure to. At this stage in his life he's left with more ghosts and guilt than actual friends. There's still the pack, but it's morphed and changed so much over the years that it's not even recognizable.

Sometimes he thinks about _him_. Of how things might have been with just a few tweaks and turns and maybe even a spattering of good luck. 

He wakes one night with the unfamiliar feeling of safety and love and pack swelling in his heart. The dream was vivid and amazing, with everyone alive, the old Hale house restored. Not much had actually happened in the dream -- it was just a snapshot, a slice of life kind of thing. Dinner around a polished table and then a movie in a massive living room, with young faces so familiar that now as he looks back on it Stiles has to close his eyes tight against the darkness that's trying to swallow him up.

He hasn't… he tries not to think of them. Of that rag-tag pack that Derek had tried to make. And now, with the loss cracking in his chest like it's new, Stiles lets himself go cold and blank again, burying the memories underneath layers and layers of ice.

He sits up, scrubs at his face, and gets out of bed. He's leaving soon. Maybe he'll get the chance to fix it all.

* * *

_It's going to hurt_ was definitely the impression Stiles got from reading the small, handwritten spell he found in an ancient coven's possessions. He was basically ripping himself out of the time and space he belonged to and then transplanting his body, mind, spirit, magic -- everything -- into a place that had virtually no room for him. 

Knowing the pain is coming and experiencing said pain are two separate things. He screams. He doesn't remember screaming, but when he fights his way back out of blackness, his throat is on fire and he tastes his own blood on his tongue.

It hurts to open his eyes. The world is too bright. Was the past always this blinding? Maybe the future has gotten progressively darker without notice. Talk about poetic, he thinks, and snorts to himself.

He lets his lids fall closed again and tries to use his other senses, tries to focus on where he is.

He's lying somewhere soft. His hands are unbound. He feels the flat surface beneath him and realizes it's a bed, so he knows someone found him and deposited him here. There are no beeping sounds or the rushing noises of the hospital. That definitely means something.

Normal people unaccustomed to the supernatural would call 911 for a seemingly injured and screaming stranger. His brain starts whirring.

It's unnerving. He thought the first thing he'd need to seek out was the date, but now he has to worry about being captured by unscrupulous hunters or an overly curious coven or-- holy shit, please, don't let them be anything like the Alpha pack.

He should have put himself under a protection charm before attempting the whole time travel gig. He left himself completely open. Now his life is in peril (again) but this time he has a mission and he'll be damned if anyone is going to stand in the way of him doing what needs to be done. Once he figures out what that is.

"Calm down. You're safe," a voice says, and Stiles's whole body tenses. He hadn't known anyone was in the room with him. He should have known. He's worked and worked on honing his senses over the years, and even though he'll never approach werewolf-levels of awareness, he thought he'd learned enough to keep himself from being caught unaware. Apparently not.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak but when he tries to get a word out, the fire in his throat makes it impossible. He opens his eyes, squinting until he can focus on the strange woman giving him an impassive look, and tries to judge who she is and if she's a threat by her body language alone.

Her mouth twitches in a way that makes his heart clench (he's never seen her before, but just the shape of her mouth is familiar and it _hurts_ ), and then she's pouring a glass of what looks like pure water. Just the sound of the liquid filling the glass makes Stiles wary. He's been tortured like this before, has thirsted with all his being for a drink just out of reach. He's also been drugged by things that don't give off a scent or taste. 

He's sore, but he sits up without too much trouble. He's scarily used to pain (well, it's a tolerance that used to be frightening, but now it's just a hard-earned blessing), and on a scale of one to "oh my god can you see my intestines?" this is easy to handle.

She hands him the glass and says, "My name is Talia Hale." Stiles's grip on the glass goes slack but Talia catches it before it upends over his entire lap. 

There's a long moment where Stiles struggles to grasp the implications of her introduction, but then, as he's learned to do over the years with anything remotely emotional, he lets it slide beneath the glacial protection he's built up inside.

He takes the glass with a sure hand and then without casting even the mildest spell to seek out tampering, tilts it up and drinks. He's surprised there's no steam or hissing when it comes in contact with his ravaged throat, and he wants it to go on and on, but Talia pulls the glass away gently when it's only half-gone and says, "You don't want to make yourself sick."

Stiles opens his mouth to speak again, and this time he finds that it's much easier to push the words out. "Thanks. I'm Stiles," he says, and then thinks that maybe he should have given a false name, or his true name, but it's too late for that. The damage is done.

Not that anyone would think to connect the Sheriff's kid with this version of himself, the one who's jaded and bone-tired and probably smells like despair. He wonders if wolves can detect the special brand of heartlessness that he's had to cultivate in order to survive and keep what's left of the town of Beacon Hills safe.

Talia Hale is just watching him quietly, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly from time to time in that same way Derek's always did to stay apprised of the situation. She startles him out of his thoughts when she asks, "Are you a hunter?"

Once, that question would have startled Stiles, made his eyes go wide and his limbs flail until they bounced off the closest surface. Because really, _Stiles_? But he's not scrawny and naive anymore. He bears scars inside and out, and scar tissue is tough and ugly and never leaves you quite the same.

Now that he's seen what hunters do, what they're capable of, and now that he has an inkling (more than that, but he's not ready to start dwelling and planning just yet) of what he's here to do, the question makes him narrow his eyes and snort in offense. "No. You have nothing to fear from me."

She tilts her head and he knows she's heard the truth in his heartbeat. He can also see the questions in her eyes, but for some reason she doesn't ask just _what_ he is, or why she found him screaming (and/or unconscious, he's not clear on the details yet) wherever it was he appeared in this time.

"The contents of your rucksack made me wonder. I had to ask," Talia says slowly.There's an emotional lance of pain from the way that reminds him of his own mom, how she'd lay out what she knew and then let him have the choice of whether to answer or not. He shoves the comparison away with the pain, under the ice, so he can think clearly and rationally -- a quick and automatic reflex now.

Stiles nods and looks at a point over her shoulder because her eyes are just too piercing and knowing and powerful for him to look into for long. He thinks of telling her something, maybe the truth but not the whole truth. She's not his mother, she's not his Alpha, but no matter how tough or powerful he's become he still feels almost small next to her, and like he owes her something big (his unwavering allegiance?). He has a feeling it's somehow tied to his relationship to Derek, but that's a messed up and twisted knot of emotion he's not going anywhere near right now (or ever, really).

"I'm not staying long," Stiles ends up saying. This is the truth, because he doesn't belong in this time and the magic won't allow him to live and breathe if he tries to hold on to it. "I'll be gone before you know it."

"You're here for a purpose," Talia says, confident like she knows something even he doesn't.

He opens his mouth to explain, then closes it tight. Even though classic sci-fi has had it all wrong about time travel, the rules and paradox theories are still in his head. And honestly, he doesn't want to mention the words 'pack' and 'fire' in the same breath. Doesn't want to explain the hell that followed, either directly or indirectly, ever since. Instead he nods firmly, meeting her eyes with resolve, and says, "I am."

"The kind of magic that brought you to my territory is very old and very powerful," she says, and it's almost like she's _scolding_ him. He's far from being a kid, and since his dad was killed he hasn't had anyone look at him that way. He's sharply reminded of the time he fell from a tree (he tried to flip from one branch to another, circus-style) and got a lecture about being reckless. It's like she's actually worried for him, for what could have happened to him.

He ignores the way it makes him feel and what it might mean. "What do you know about it?" Stiles asks, as blank as he can, heart thudding. Does she understand where… _when_ he's from?

"The scent is distinctive," Talia says, and Stiles waits for her to push him into baring it all.

But then she just smiles at him and orders him up because it's dinner time, and he's well enough to sit at the table and meet the family.

He forces himself still, muscles clenched hard to cut off the full-body reaction he nearly has.

* * *

Stiles can't remember ever sitting around a table with so many people except in the cafeteria at school. It's a strange experience, especially since the overwhelming majority of the people filling the room have been dead for most of his life.

The atmosphere isn't calm, either. Not that it would have helped put him at ease, knowing everything he knows, but the tension running through the pack because of the unknown quantity sitting among them makes the panic of his youth want to raise its head and break his chest.

So he closes his eyes and deals with it like he's been dealing with it for years. He pushes it all down, minimizes and ignores, and encases the irrational or useless with ice.

When he opens his eyes again, everyone at the table is staring at him. Some of them look curious, some of them almost afraid. Talia, though, _she_ looks angry.

"What." He says, his voice as inflectionless as Derek's used to be. He's almost proud of it.

Talia shakes her head. "We'll talk about it later," she murmurs.

Stiles frowns but nods, and looks around. Then, for the first time, his rational mind and the present situation actually catch up with each other and he finds himself staring into Derek's clear eyes. He's sitting just across the table from Stiles and he's young, fuck, fifteen or sixteen. He's nearly unrecognizable, and it's only the electric shock of _knowing_ that convinces Stiles that yes, this really is Derek Hale.

A Derek untouched by Kate Argent, a boy who is guileless and happy and surrounded by love. This Derek is bound up tightly within his pack, not one single cord has been violently cut. He's anchored within his family, and he's never tasted betrayal or had to live with the kind of crushing guilt Stiles or his own Derek have faced.

Later, Stiles will let himself feel rage over the innocence Derek was forced to lose. Not now. Not when he's sitting here with the pack he's now sworn viciously to protect. Because he _will_ protect them. Seeing them like this, seeing _Derek_ like this, has just hammered the point home.

Stiles doesn't really have anything left, but he can make sure Derek never has to bear the kinds of emotional scars Stiles knows intimately.

It's difficult to pull his gaze away from Derek's, and if Stiles didn't know how to wear a mask in order to protect himself (his heart), he's sure his eyes would be spilling over. Right now there's a tiny spark of hope and love trying to burn in his chest, and he hesitates to snuff it out. He looks down at his plate -- roasted venison and baby carrots and whipped herbed potatoes --- and decides to let it stay for now. If it becomes a problem he'll deal with it. Later.

"Stiles?" Talia asks.

"I can do this," Stiles whispers to himself, and when he raises his head to meet Talia's questioning eyes, he doesn't explain, but lets himself grin as ferally as a wolf. She studies him for a moment before leaning in slowly.

He lets his head tilt back, exposing his throat the way he's seen countless betas do for their Alphas. He can feel the eyes of the rest of the pack on their exchange; there's an energy in the room he can't deny. Talia lets out a huff of amusement and ruffles his hair like he's not a hardened and powerful witch with nothing left to lose. It makes something inside him feel softer and more exposed than he's allowed in years. It should scare him, to be that vulnerable. He knows it's going to be a problem, but for now he's going to just let it go. He can let himself feel just a little, can't he?

He shakes the question away -- it doesn't matter, it's not going to affect his actions. He's already vowed to save them, to sacrifice himself if necessary. Caring about them, letting them _see_ he cares, it shouldn't matter one way or the other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't realized how much time had passed between me posting the first chapter and this one. I apologize.
> 
> panic attack in this chapter, fair warning.

He can't stay with the Hales, even though (surprisingly enough) he has that option. He walks into town and goes straight to Deaton with a bag full of expensive charms he magicked on his own (not one of them was done by Deaton himself or he'd recognize the power).

Stiles doesn't trust Deaton anymore. There's too much bad blood between them and not nearly enough honesty, so when Deaton raises his eyebrows and asks who/where/when/why in a calm voice, Stiles smiles and tells him it's none of his business. 

The charms are too rare and powerful to pass up, and even though Deaton is wary of Stiles and his sudden appearance, he pays handsomely for them and now Stiles has enough cash to last for awhile.

He rents a motel room on the outskirts of town and then…

He knows he has important shit to do but he can't help going out for a walk.

First thing he does is walk through the cemetery. He's not sure why until he gets to a bare patch of perfectly manicured grass, looks down, and there's _nothing there_. No granite, no fading flowers, and absolutely no _beloved wife and mother_ to trace his fingers over.

He sucks in a sharp breath and nods. Yes. She's alive. He could see her. He could go by the house and knock on the door and pretend to ask for directions. He could let his eyes drink her in, see her _there_ and breathing and speaking with a voice he hates himself for forgetting. He could.

But he won't. That's not what this trip is about. She's gone and there's nothing he could have done, nothing he can do now to spare her son and husband that pain. He's going to forget about it because he's absolutely helpless in this situation, but there are deaths he _can_ prevent, a boy he _can_ spare.

He turns on his heel and goes back to the motel.

* * *

He's got an address now, and the money to buy a used car, paper free, to get him where he needs to go. He has resolve, too, and a kind of vindictive ruthlessness he didn't have the first time around.

He's getting ready to leave when there's a knock on his door. He lets his magic reach out warily while he prepares to defend himself.

There's no need to fight, though. It's Derek.

Stiles opens the door and lets him inside. He doesn't think he has it in him to do anything else. He _should_ turn the boy away, because Stiles isn't a safe companion anymore, and there are feelings -- some old and some new but both kinds equally jagged -- that he's not sure he can keep under wraps.

Stiles waves him in and then leans against the wall casually, taking in everything about Derek's appearance as greedily as he can. He's not as broad or hard or tense, and he looks at Stiles with _trust_ in his eyes. It makes Stiles swallow hard, and Derek must hear it or smell something because then he's smiling like he understands something.

"Why are you here?" Stiles asks, and he tries to make his voice hard, he really does. It comes out sounding more desperate than anything else, though, at least in his own ears.

Derek's smile slips a bit at the question, and he looks so shy and hesitant. Stiles wants to put his hands on his face, feel the soft skin where stubble hasn't started to grow yet, and ease his mind.

"You looked at me," Derek says, a mix of confusion and confidence. "You're looking at me right now."

It's not what Stiles expects, and he warns Derek with, "Don't. You don't have- Jesus. You've got no idea."

Derek wets his lips nervously and Stiles's traitorous heart jumps. He's Derek and he's not-Derek. He's young and innocent and Stiles is fucked up enough now that he wants to take that and make it his own.

"You should leave," Stiles says, fisting his hands at his sides.

"Why?" Derek asks, stepping closer. He's not so far away now, Stiles would only have to reach out and reel him in, turn them around, press Derek against the wall. Derek's nostrils twitch and his eyes widen. "You want me," he says with an awed whisper.

The Derek Hale that Stiles has always known would never be surprised to learn that Stiles wanted him. It was a given, almost from the beginning. This is an abrupt turnaround, some ironic twist of cosmic fate. It makes Stiles want to laugh. Instead, he groans and closes his eyes, wondering just how the fuck he got into this situation.

"I want you, too," Derek admits, still whispering, and this time his breath ghosts across Stiles's cheek, making it obvious that the boy has moved even closer.

Stiles reaches out blindly and his hands clutch at Derek's slim hips. He means to push him away. He refuses to pull him closer. He squeezes hard, bruising, and grits out the truth. "I'll only hurt you."

Derek snorts and Stiles opens his eyes to glare at him, at his innocence. It's easy to see what he's thinking, that he's the big strong werewolf and Stiles is the just a human.

"There are so many ways to hurt someone, Derek," Stiles tells him seriously. "Not just the physical."

Derek tilts his head like he's appraising Stiles, and Stiles gets the feeling that he, like most teenagers, thinks he's wise and experienced enough to make responsible decisions. Then Derek suddenly shakes his head and says, "You won't hurt me. I trust you."

It knocks the wind out of Stiles. It's given so easily, and the statement is so bold. Then Stiles gets angry, multitudes of reasons for it tangling in his chest. 

"Don't be so fucking stupid," Stiles spits, twisting and throwing Derek against the wall in a sudden move. He uses his magic to hold him there, to make him see how easy it is to overpower him, to take away his choices. "You don't know me. I could be anyone. We've met _once_. I could hurt you, take everything away from you in a blink."

Derek looks shocked at first, especially as he struggles and realizes there's no way out. He frowns then, watching and listening to what Stiles says. Stiles expects to see fear, or anger, but then Derek just looks sad. "Is that what happened to you?"

Stiles laughs bitterly but answers him. "No. But it might as well have." He sighs and lets Derek go, but Derek doesn't move away like any smart person would. Instead he pulls Stiles in and snuffles his neck. It makes Stiles freeze for a moment, remembering the good times when Scott or Isaac did the same, seeking comfort from him after something had gone down.

"Is...is this okay?" Derek asks.

It's just scenting, Stiles thinks. It doesn't have to mean anything. He doesn't have to let it affect him. Stiles sighs and wraps his arms around Derek comfortingly, then hesitantly allows himself to pet Derek's hair.

It shouldn't make him feel better. He's closed himself off for long enough that comfort is no longer a factor because it's not something he wants or needs. Maybe… maybe that was a lie.

"I'll hurt you," Stiles warns softly, because there's something broken and awful inside him that wants this Derek, a part of him that's not going to let go until he's had him completely. 

"Shh," Derek says, and holds him closer, which makes no sense at all. Derek's all of fifteen and he's trying to reassure Stiles as you would a child, which Stiles most definitely is not and hasn't been for a long time.

But it's working, this simple reassurance. The holding and whispering and gentle affection (fuck, what has he ever done to deserve this?) is melting the ice that encases his heart. It's not a gentle melt, but a cracking and splitting open like a frozen river just as Spring works her natural magic.

And it's that thought, that particular imagery, that makes Stiles leap away in fear and panic, his breath too quick and painful to endure. "Can't," Stiles croaks, backing away until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he's collapsing down on the motel bed. He gets a glimpse of Derek's frightened face before he buries his own between his knees and attempts to get it all under control.

All he can hear is the rushing sound of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heartbeat. He hasn't had an attack this bad in years, not since he realized Derek had left him, for good this time, because he thought it was the only solution. That's when Stiles let the ice take everything, all the doubts and fears and hurts, every empty night and hopeless morning. Even when his father was killed, he refused to let the pain escape. There was nothing, not a misplaced breath or wet blink of his eye. He focused completely on keeping Scott from being corrupted by the Alpha power, and on protecting the town from the supernatural nasties that kept showing up and wrecking things whenever life started to level out into normality.

The panic goes on and on, so bad Stiles thinks that maybe he's mistaken, maybe it really is cardiac arrest this time.

Then there's a voice calling him back, pulling him up, and it's so familiar he can't help but sob _Mom!_ before he chokes back the entire notion. Because it's not her. He lost her a long time ago, no matter what the empty plot at the cemetery means.

"Breathe, honey, just like me," the voice is saying, and then he can place it.

"Talia?" he gasps, fingers twisting in the knit of her sweater.

"Good, so good," she says, and he wonders idly if hanging around werewolves for so long has given him this intense need to please the Alpha. Not that it's ever happened before, at least not like this. It feels good to be praised by Talia. Maybe he'll research a little when… when he gets back home.

"I'm sorry," Stiles gasps, closing his eyes again. Then he jerks, flooded with shame. "Did Derek…?"

She seems to know what he's asking. "He called me here. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't see the whole attack, I kept him out."

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, as choked as it is. "Thank you."

"We need to talk about what my fifteen year old son was doing with you alone in your motel room," she says, but he doesn't know her well enough to read her tone.

He picks his head up, frowning, trying to read her. "He… I didn't call him here. I'm sorry. I'll stay away." It hurts to say that, but he knows it's for the best.

Her lips twist. Her eyes are knowing. He looks away before she sees more than she needs to.

He has to get this pain under control. He feels more unstable than ever, like he's bleeding on the inside. Stiles closes his eyes and tries to make the flowing waters freeze over again, but Talia is sitting close and watching him and the room still holds the faint scent of Derek's body wash. He makes a small noise of frustration and that's when Talia grips his shoulder. 

"Stop it."

He wants to glare at her. It wouldn't be the first time he faced down an Alpha, and in the past he's done it without flinching. Now, though, he just scowls at his own hands fisted in his lap. "I need to get it under control. I have to do something and… I need to be strong."

He hasn't had so much trouble keeping his secrets inside for years. Maybe it's a mom thing.

"Do you know what makes me strong?" Talia asks gently.

Stiles nods. It took awhile, but he actually has a pretty good amount of theoretical knowledge of the inherited magic of Alphas, how it's passed down, the effects on the body and mind…

But Talia is shaking her head like she knows exactly what he's thinking about and it's wrong, wrong, wrong. "My pack. My pack is what makes me strong."

"Right, right, the bonds intensify the inherent magic of the Alpha," Stiles mumbles, frowning at himself for forgetting that tidbit, especially since he's heard it enough from the Alphas who've come in and out of his life.

Talia growls. "Not what I mean."

Stiles has never been stupid, and with Talia he has the feeling she won't even let him pretend. He rubs his hand over his face, suddenly very tired. He sighs and admits, "I know. I know what you mean."

"You're hurting yourself," Talia says. "I don't know exactly how, but you're suppressing basic human emotions and if you were a wolf you would have gone feral by now."

Stiles swallows hard. He wonders what would happen if he just let it go, if he let himself feel again. If he opened himself up and let all the garbage and filth flow through him where it couldn't be ignored. He knows that eventually it would run clear, but…

"I don't have time to deal with it right now," he says, his voice as hard as he can make it and his jaw clenched hard. "I'm here for a purpose."

"Then let us help," Talia says, as if that's an option.

"You can't be involved," Stiles says.

"Have you always been this stubborn?" Talia asks, her voice a mixture of anger and fondness.

"That's one thing that's never changed," Stiles snorts. He feels so old, so used up.

"Come stay at the house," Talia says. "I can smell your exhaustion. Being around the pack will give you some energy."

It's tempting, but…

"I can't be around Derek right now," Stiles admits, so quiet he can barely hear his own words. "I'll break down completely."

"You love him." It's weird how she says it, like she's not judging him for it at all.

Stiles groans and hides his face in his hands like he's a kid again himself. "Fuck, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You really don't?" Talia asks. She's silent until he gathers his courage to lift his face and meet her eyes.

"I know how I feel," Stiles says, and he might as well be yelling it at the top of his lungs, that he's been in love with Derek for so long he doesn't know how _not_ to be. But maybe in his previous life, the one where Derek was the more broken of the two of them, Stiles could have been good for him. But here, in this time? "I'd only hurt him, Talia." 

"My son is strong," she says.

Stiles looks at her, letting his sadness bleed into his eyes. "I know he is. I just don't want him to _have_ to be." Not this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit on the angsty side, yeah?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is broken and damaged enough to give in when Derek comes to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> underage sex ahead between 15 year old Derek and an unspecified age (but adult) Stiles.
> 
> forgive me for taking so long to update it but it's done now.

He kills Gerard and Kate three days later.

There's no kidnapping, torture, or monologue involved. He doesn't take any trophies and there's no calling card left behind. He's careful. He's quick. He scrubs the area of every single sign of his presence, physical and magical. It doesn't take long and he doesn't let himself dwell on the fact that he's now a cold-blooded killer.

When it's over, he makes his way back to where he parked his car a few blocks away, and then he drives back to Beacon Hills.

The moon overhead is big, almost full, when he parks at the motel. He looks up at it for a moment and wonders how much longer he has in this time before the magic sweeps him away.

He doesn't startle when he feels Derek's presence behind him, but it's a near thing. He unlocks his room and leaves the door wide in invitation. He doesn't turn around when the door is closed and the lock clicks (soft and final) behind them.

Stiles is afraid, but he's not sure of what. "Been waiting long?" he asks, as light as he can make it.

"I felt you get close," Derek says. It sounds like he's testing the words on his tongue to see how they taste.

Stiles nods. Finally he just grabs onto his courage and turns to look at the boy.

Derek's nervous. There's a faint line between his brows, like he's concentrating hard on what he wants to say.

"What do you want, Derek?" Stiles asks, putting some exasperation into the words even though he doesn't feel it.

Derek nods and swallows and says, "You."

"No, you really don't," Stiles says, angry for no reason, an ugly laugh escaping before he can stop it. "I'm no good for you, not like this."

"Like what?" Derek asks. His eyes are soft like his heart is open and ready to understand. Stiles suddenly wants to shatter all his illusions so he'll just go away.

But he can't. If he tells Derek the truth, tells him all he's seen and done, he'll hurt him. And the that's the last thing Stiles should do.

There's a split second of deep understanding then, of his own Derek and how he might have felt about Stiles, if…

If Derek had loved him this much, and had hated what he'd become the same way Stiles hates himself, then maybe, _fuck_.

Stiles closes his eyes and sways under the sudden realization that he's now where Derek was, and he's facing the same kind of choice, except Stiles knows the pain one decision will cause, no matter how well meaning.

"I just don't want to hurt you," Stiles mumbles when he finds himself in Derek's arms. Broken record. He can't stay. He can't be what Derek needs. But there's no way he's pushing him away like Derek had done when he left Beacon Hills for good. "There's no answer to this, no…"

"Stop thinking about it," Derek says, and then there's the tentative flicker of his tongue against Stiles's neck.

Stiles gasps and clutches at Derek for a moment before he gets himself under control enough to push away and look at the kid.

Fuck. Derek's too young for this. Too tender and vulnerable at this point in his life, and Stiles just _isn't_. Stiles is made up of broken, jagged edges that will only make Derek bleed out. This Derek looks like he wants to roll over and give Stiles everything and anything, and the fact is that the world has made Stiles selfish enough to let him go through with it.

Stiles is shaking. He doesn't realize it until Derek takes his hands in his own, looking at him worriedly until he seems to come to a decision. He guides Stiles over to the bed. He's not pushing or demanding the way the future Derek would have; this Derek is practically pleading with Stiles to do as he asks.

Once Stiles is seated, Derek starts shedding his clothes. Stiles had always thought Derek was incapable of shyness, but the now-naked boy in front of him is flushing beautifully, waiting for Stiles's approval. Desperate for it.

It's not the body Stiles became accustomed to when Derek was in Beacon Hills and losing his shirt on a regular basis. The boy isn't scrawny, not with werewolf genes, but there's an undeniable youthfulness to him that Stiles is uncomfortably attracted to. Stiles lets his eyes roam down to where Derek's cock is already jutting and wet at the tip. It's a mouth-watering sight. Fuck. Stiles hasn't let himself _want_ like this in so long that he'd forgotten what it's like. 

Derek makes a soft sound, a needy whine, and Stiles looks into his eyes to see his own want reflected there. Derek's pupils are so large he looks like he's in a trance. His hands are fisted at his sides and Stiles knows he's holding back, waiting for Stiles to tell him what to do.

Stiles would love to open his mouth and give an order, if only his mind would settle on one thing in particular. The problem is that Stiles wants Derek in every single way he can have him, and there are about twelve distinct scenarios crowding each other for dominance in Stiles's head.

He should really start with something simple, though. As much as he wants to overwhelm Derek's senses and send him reeling into orbit on waves of pleasure, they haven't yet had their first kiss.

"Come here," Stiles says.

Derek moves forward quickly, and Stiles reaches out to pull him down level with him. Derek's knees hit the carpet with a soft thump, and then Stiles cups his face in both hands and pulls him in for a kiss. He should go slow, be gentle, coax the response from Derek, drag it out the way it's supposed to be done…

But Stiles feels like he's on fire with want. His love -- and it's love, no one will ever convince him it's anything but -- is fierce and demanding, and it practically forces him to fuck into Derek's mouth with his tongue. To take control. To show Derek once and for all who he belongs to.

He shouldn't. There's a rational part of his mind that's complaining about this, reminding him that Derek's wolf-side is going to recognize this kind of behavior. That he's giving Derek a choice, and if Derek feels half of what Stiles does, he's going to give over and then there will be no more ignoring it. Derek won't just be able to _leave_ , not after surrendering himself like this.

Maybe that promise makes it easier for Stiles to bite sharply just below Derek's ear and whisper, "You're mine, Derek."

It's not like Derek doesn't have the option of backing away and saying no. He could. But Stiles knows he won't. He doesn't need the confirming shudder of Derek's body that melts into absolute submission, or the high, breathless, "Yes, yours."

Stiles is a bastard for doing this, for wanting to bind Derek so closely to him even though the magic will be taking him away soon and he won't be here to make good on the promises his body and magic are making. 

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asks him, his voice soft.

"The future," Stiles tells him. Derek's eyes are confused as he waits for Stiles to explain, but Stiles doesn't have the right words.

"You really are leaving?" Derek asks.

Stiles pulls Derek up onto the bed and pushes him down so that he's spread out for him, all smooth skin and supple lines. "I don't have a choice."

"When will I see you again?"

Stiles runs a hand down and across Derek's chest slowly, rough calluses catching on Derek's nipples. Derek gasps and whines for more, unaware of how his responsiveness makes Stiles's cock throb even more painfully in his pants.

"I want to tell you right now, tell you everything," Stiles says. 

Derek raises his eyebrows, waiting.

Stiles twists his lips and looks away. He doesn't want Derek to know. Not about the fire, not about the things that happened after, not about the way events twisted and battered them down into the people they became. He never wants Derek to know how far he's gone and the horrible things he's done to keep it all from happening again. It's selfish, but he wants Derek's love. Wants to keep him like this. Whole and utterly his.

He makes a decision. "I'll tell your mom and she can pass on the bare facts and let you know what to look for." 

"I don't understand," Derek says.

"You will," Stiles says, and leans down to lick his cock.

Derek doesn't notice it's mostly done to distract. 

"You're so beautiful," Stiles breathes, trailing his lips down to Derek's vulnerable balls. Derek whimpers and his hands clench uselessly in the sheets. "Spread your legs for me, baby." The endearment slips out before he can stop it, and while that sort of thing might have annoyed the other Derek, this one seems to like it if the jump of his cock is anything to go by.

Derek spreads his legs obediently and Stiles runs his hands up his inner thighs, possessive yet careful and gentle. "Do you like me calling you that?" he asks curiously.

Derek flushes and nods. 

Stiles's tongue follows the invisible trails his hands just made, making Derek's legs tense and shake with anticipation. He bites sharply at one point, though he's not sure why. Maybe he wants to remind Derek who's in control, or maybe because he's just that big of an asshole. But Derek sucks in a breath and then lets it out on a sob that is pure pleasure.

"So perfect for me," Stiles says. "I'm gonna break you apart."

"Please," Derek whispers, and Stiles knows the boy has no idea what he's asking for. Still, he's going to get it.

Stiles wants to play with Derek's nipples, twist and pull at them until they're puffy and oversensitive, and he works them for a few minutes while his tongue teases Derek's cock. But Stiles is so hungry for him, so impatient, that he soon ends up pushing Derek over on his belly and ordering him to bend his knees. Derek's nervous, Stiles can read it in the lines of his muscles and in the faint tremors running through his body.

"It's okay, baby," Stiles says roughly, his focus on the partly-hidden clench of Derek's ass. "Fuck." He runs his hands down Derek's back, ignoring how bare it looks without the tattoo. "I'm not… I haven't been gentle in a long time." Stiles doesn't know how else to say it. To explain. "And I want you too bad to start now."

But Derek just groans and rocks back, like he's begging to be filled already, even before being touched. "'s okay," he gasps. "Want it. Want you inside me."

Stiles and Derek fucked once, the night before Derek took off for good. Derek topped. It was desperate and animalistic, both of them snarling out obscenities because that was easier than saying what they felt. The memory aches now, and Stiles suddenly realizes he wants this to be completely different.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe. "I'll try… Fuck. Just tell me if it hurts, if you need me to stop, okay?"

"Okay," Derek says quietly.

"Gonna taste you first," Stiles mutters, spreading Derek's cheeks with one hand, and that's the only warning he gives the boy before he flattens his tongue and drags it across his hole.

There are a million filthy things running through Stiles's head, and it shouldn't be such a turn-on to know he's the first to get here, that Derek's a virgin. He shouldn't be so pleased to feel the tightness slowly give way as he works his tongue inside. He's trying hard to focus on these things, on Derek's hot, pink hole, and not the gasping, mewling noises coming out of Derek's mouth.

But it's impossible not to hear, not to listen. He's already addicted, and he wants even more.

"Tell me, Derek. Talk to me," Stiles says, but when he pulls away to speak it makes Derek whine even louder.

"Please, Stiles, please don't stop," Derek whispers. It's quiet, too quiet. Stiles doesn't want him sounding like he's afraid to be heard. Like he's ashamed.

"Louder," Stiles tells him. "Tell me what you want, baby."

Derek shivers and tries to press back again. "More… your mouth. And…" He cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip hard. 

Stiles pulls back even more and slaps Derek's flank. Just enough, a stinging reminder. Derek jolts and moans loudly. Stiles says, "Don't do that. I want to hear. Tell me."

"I want you inside me so bad," Derek says, loud enough to be heard this time, though the sound is shaky.

Stiles grins and runs one finger down Derek's spine, into his crack, until he stops and presses it against Derek's wet hole. Derek rocks like he's trying to get it inside. Seeing him this desperate and horny and positively vulnerable has Stiles feeling hot all over and close to losing control.

He massages Derek's tight little hole, not pushing in yet. "Have you ever fingered yourself?"

Even the tips of Derek's ears are red. "Yes. I… while you were gone. I tried it."

Stiles bites back a groan and palms himself through his trousers, a hard press of his hand that's there and gone in just a second. He moves back down to Derek's hole and gets it good and wet before pushing his finger in slowly.

Derek's panting hard and his claws are out, digging into the mattress below him. Stiles can't remember grinning this hard in a long time. 

"So you fucked yourself on your fingers, baby? Tell me. Tell me what you thought about," Stiles says, and he knows he's an asshole for making Derek talk about it, for making him admit these things, but damn it's good to hear. The older Derek was so quiet, so bottled up. He didn't talk about how he felt or what he wanted, and this boy is spilling out every dirty secret like Stiles has every right to know.

"Your cock," Derek says, then almost chokes when Stiles rewards him with another finger. He moans and goes still, then rocks back hard to take the fingers deep. He's so fucking beautiful and Stiles loves him so fiercely it's hard to breathe.

"You thought about me fucking you?" Stiles asks, panting harshly. 

"Yes, please, _please_ Stiles," Derek begs.

Stiles swears and pulls his fingers away, ignoring Derek's whimper of dissatisfaction. There's lube in his backpack, and Stiles gets it out and slicks three fingers quickly, even though he'd love to see what Derek feels like without more prep.

But no, it's Derek's first time. It won't be gentle, but Stiles isn't going to be as selfish as he wants to be. Three fingers is a tight squeeze, but with steady pressure and patience (fuck, where did this patience come from?) it's not long before Stiles is fucking them into Derek's hole with slow, sure strokes. It's captivating to watch, and Stiles's mouth is open and running before he can stop it.

"Look at you, taking it so good for me, fuck, baby, you're so pretty like this, getting ready for my cock," Stiles says. He twists his fingers around, enjoying every gasp he can pull from Derek's mouth. "Can you come like this? Just like this?"

"Yes," Derek says, nodding sharply. "Can I?"

Stiles swallows hard at the power and implicit trust he knows Derek is giving him. "Yeah, baby. Come right now."

Derek stiffens up almost immediately, then jerks as his cock sprays come on the sheets beneath him.

"So good for me," Stiles says, moving up so he can kiss Derek's back and shoulder and the nape of his neck. "I love you so much."

Derek's panting and looks out of it, but then he blinks and turns wide eyes on Stiles. "You do?"

Stiles bites his shoulder hard and closes his eyes. "You have no idea."

Derek gives him a shy smile and opens his mouth to reply, but Stiles shakes his head. "Not now."

Derek can't love this version of himself. Stiles isn't worthy of it. He's been broken too many times and what pieces he's managed to put back together are just… wrong. The other Stiles can have this Derek's love, the young Stiles who is undamaged and capable of giving back in all the right ways, the healthy ways. He's the one who can have Derek's love, even though he'll never appreciate just how much of a gift it truly is.

Stiles meets Derek's worried gaze. "Sorry, got caught up in my head again." He distracts Derek with the reminder that he's still got three fingers buried deep in his ass. Derek hisses when Stiles thrusts in again, seeming surprised, and Stiles laughs.

So far, he's been avoiding Derek's prostate, but now he hits it and admires the way Derek's body seizes up from the pleasure of it. He keeps doing that for awhile, until there are tears running down Derek's face and he's gasping a constant stream of, "Please, please, please…"

Stiles reaches around and wraps his hand around Derek's cock. It's hard and leaking again, or maybe _still_ , thanks to the combination of teenage hormones and werewolf stamina. 

"Look at you, begging to come again, aren't you? You're so hard for me. This is for me, right?" Stiles asks him, teasing. He strokes up slowly, squeezing the head when he gets there, then stroking back down.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek sobs, so beautiful. "Only you."

"Promise?" Stiles delivers an even harder thrust with his fingers and strokes a little faster. 

"Yes, I promise, I'm _yours_ ," Derek says, the words coming out so fast they almost trip over each other.

"Come for me again, if you're mine," Stiles says. "Let it go."

Derek collapses after this orgasm, seeming not to care that he's laying belly-down in a puddle of his own come. Stiles soothes him, running his hands up and down Derek's back while he catches his breath again.

"I still…" Derek says, then trails off like he's having trouble with the words now that he's not practically incoherent with the need to come.

Stiles scores his nails down Derek's back, making the boy hiss and arch into the pain instead of away from it. "Tell me," Stiles says.

"I still want you to fuck me. I… I need it," he says, and then he hides his face in the pillow.

"There's no reason to feel ashamed, baby," Stiles tells him, his hand wandering into Derek's hair and then clenching hard enough to pull his head back. "And I know you need it. You need me to be inside you, to claim you and own you."

Derek's eyes go wide. "How…"

Stiles smiles. "I know because I feel it, too."

"You want me to…?"

Stiles looks away. "Not yet. But… when we meet again. You'll know." Then he rolls off the bed to stand and starts removing his clothes.

Derek watches, unblinking. Actually, he frowns, and when Stiles looks down at himself he remembers. "Oh. Sorry. Kinda ugly, I guess." His body is littered with scars, faint ones, prominent ones, thin ones, thick ones. 

"Not ugly," Derek says firmly.

Stiles smiles slightly, wishes he could tell Derek some of the stories behind the scar tissue. But he won't, because there's no need.

He shrugs and shimmies out of the rest of his clothes and then he makes his way back to the bed. Derek's eyes roam down to fix on Stiles's dick. 

"I'm so hard for you, baby," Stiles says. He manhandles Derek into position so he's on his hands and knees, then teases his greedy hole with the head of his cock. "I'm gonna fuck you for real, fill you up until you can't breathe, and then I'm gonna come inside you…" He presses in all at once, one big powerful thrust, and Derek makes a noise like he's wounded. Stiles knows he should pause a moment and let Derek adjust, but the heat and grip of him is driving Stiles crazy. He can't help but fuck, one hard thrust after another, until he's nearly mindless with it.

Beneath him, Derek whines and groans and sobs out sounds that sound like 'Stiles' and 'more' but Stiles is barely paying attention to anything other than the way his magic is rising up inside him along with everything else. He snarls, blunt fingers digging into Derek's tender hips. The magic makes him stronger, makes everything more intense, and he starts talking again, harsh and filthy.

"Come inside you, make you wet and dirty with me, everyone will know and you'll never get rid of me. You'll never be able to leave me, Derek. Never again. You're mine now and you're gonna take it every time I give it to you and you'll love it, I'll make you love it, love _me_ ," Stiles pants out.

"Yours, all yours, always, fuck me harder," Derek cries, and Stiles does until Derek's straining to come, begging for it, loud and needy.

"Yeah, come for me, baby," Stiles slurs, and then the magic wells up inside him while his own orgasm crashes down, and together he and Derek get caught up in something neither of them could fully understand.

* * *

When Stiles wakes, he's content. He feels loved. Between his own magic purring like a giant cat and the way he's picking up on Derek's feelings...

This could be a problem.

Derek is curled up against him trustingly, exhausted from the sex and magic, and for a moment Stiles wishes he could stay and watch him turn into a man. He allows himself a touch, just the back of his hand to Derek's cheek, and watches fondly as Derek moves into the touch, searching out more of the same. Stiles kisses his forehead and slips away, out of the bed.

He leaves a note because he knows what it's like to wake up without one.

He thinks that maybe Derek will wake, but the boy sleeps on even after Stiles showers, dresses, and slips out the door. Leaving him there is maybe the hardest thing he's ever done.

He goes straight to Talia, knowing he smells like her son's spunk and sweat. Maybe a part of him is hoping she'll disembowel him before he has to tell her the story.

But she doesn't, and he has to. He stares down at her rug from start to finish, and it's not until he's completely done and she says his name that he looks up.

There are tears on her face. He frowns and she shakes her head. "Is there more?" she asks.

"The magic won't last much longer," Stiles says. "The way he's feeling… it'll fade, I guess, without my magic behind it. I'm only human. When the younger me is old enough to…" He trails off and shrugs. "I don't know."

"Derek loves _you_ ," Talia says.

"He shouldn't," Stiles says firmly. "It's better this way."

"What happens if Derek doesn't like the younger you? Did you think of that?" Talia asks.

But Stiles shakes his head. "I love Derek no matter who he is or what he's been through or… I just love him. It'll be the same."

"What will happen to you?" Talia asks.

"Maybe I'll disappear completely," he mumbles, but he sighs when Talia growls. "I don't really know."

Talia nods and she's silent for awhile. Stiles wonders if he should leave. But then she says, "I know you don't see it, but you're a good man. I can see why my son -- both of them -- fell in love with you."

Stiles looks down at his hands, the same hands he used to kill Gerard and Kate Argent. He shakes his head, denial on his tongue.

Talia grabs him then and forces him to look at her. "You saved us all. You gave our pack a future, even though it might mean you have no future for yourself."

But Stiles doesn't want to hear it. He'd rather she be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself. "Yeah? I fucked your fifteen year old son. I took advantage of an innocent kid because I'm so broken inside that it seemed like the right thing to do. No, wait, it didn't. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. Do good men do that? Tell me!" He's yelling now but he can't seem to stop himself. Maybe she'll kill him, hit him at least.

He doesn't know how it happens but then suddenly there are arms around him and his head is tucked to breathe in her scent and he's crying, shaking all over, but it's okay. She's soothing him and saying it's okay, over and over. The ice has cracked and melted and ran off downstream. He's useless now, couldn't face down even the weakest of enemies in a fight, but that's okay because he's safe here with the Alpha. There's no one to fight, no one he has to protect, he can just let it all out because it's _over_.

He stopped the fire, held the family together, and gave Derek a future. It's over. He can finally rest.

* * *

epilogue

 

Derek is numb for days after Stiles disappears. His mother sits him down when he returns home and explains some things about Stiles, things Derek never suspected but which ring oddly true. He can tell by his mother's pauses and long looks that she's leaving bits out, but he doesn't press. It hurts a little, knowing that his mother understands Stiles more than he does, but he accepts it. He has to, right? She's his Alpha and if she wants to keep secrets she's entitled.

But Stiles is gone.

It's almost impossible to accept. Even with werewolf healing, he still feels the echo of Stiles's cock inside him, claiming and owning and ruining Derek for anyone else. Stiles was just there. His scent still resides on Derek's skin. 

Of course Stiles told him he couldn't stay, but there was hope, too. Stiles promised more, a future, but for now there's nothing Derek can grasp. He's floating aimlessly, holding back whimpers of confusion, and his mother nods and leads him out to the car.

They drive to town, to the park. The sun is shining and Derek wants to scowl because of it. He wonders if this is what grief feels like.

He follows his mother down the hill to the playground and they sit on a freshly-painted bench. Derek doesn't know why they're in the park, and he's starting to get impatient. There are kids playing nearby, on the swings, but Derek ignores them and lets the noise fall to the back of his mind. He's busy analyzing what Stiles said to him, how he touched him, what his scars felt like beneath Derek's curious fingers.

His mother nudges him away from those thoughts, getting his attention. He looks at her but her gaze is on the kids. She nods toward them, and he follows her gaze with a frown.

There are two boys apparently competing with each other over who can swing the highest. One's hair is darker than the other, and the other boy is slightly smaller. Derek frowns at them, wondering what his mother is trying to tell him. 

Then the smaller boy jumps out of the swing just when it hits its highest point. The other boy doesn't follow suit, stopping the swing by digging his shoes into the dirt instead.

"Stiles!" a woman's voice calls out, and Derek's whole body jerks.

The boy who jumped looks up toward the woman, his face a mixture of pride and sheepishness, and then Derek can barely breathe. 

"It's…" Derek chokes, and that's when he realizes his mother has a firm arm around him, holding him tightly in place with supernatural strength. He almost ran to the boy, would have gone to him if his mother hadn't stopped him.

"Yes. That's him," his mother says quietly.

Derek is fascinated at the difference between the boy and the man. The boy's eyes are wide and happy, his mouth open on a joyful laugh. There are no lines of pain on his face, no harshness or grief or guilt. 

He's so … _pure_. Derek wants to do something, anything, to keep him like this. His wolf suggests carrying him away to a hidden den, but of course he knows that's impossible. And illegal.

Derek wrenches his eyes away and looks at his mother, his Alpha. "What do we do?"

She smiles slightly, looking almost sad. "Do you want to interfere?"

Derek's not sure what he wants, other than to protect Stiles. "I don't want him to become… like that," he says quietly, knowing his mother will understand.

"I don't think he will, this time," she says.

Derek looks back at the boy, watches as his mother runs a gentle hand over his head and he beams up at her. 

"I want to know him," Derek admits. "This version of him. Be his friend."

His mom is quiet for awhile, watching the humans. "I'll see what I can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. no sequel is planned.


End file.
